Obsession
by Ed's Tomato
Summary: How easily the passions consume us. Storm unexpectedly runs into Toad at a bar. Set after X2.
1. Chapter 1

_**--Disclaimer I own nothing X-Men or X-Men related. I'm not sure I really own anything come to think of it...I certainly make no profit off of it. Which is too bad considering the time and resources spent toward the fanworks.  
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_**--RATING DISCLAIMER. ADULT SITUATIONS. BE WARNED. If offendable, please take into consideration before reading. Lather, Rinse, Repeat, and Read and Review Please.--**_

_**This story is also archived at Adult Fan Fiction . Net with stronger Adult themes.**_

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**Chapter One:**

He'd been sitting there drinking for the better part of three days. After he'd managed to yank himself out of the river, he dragged himself to a motel where he'd been holed up like a rat for four months recovering the horrific burns. He nearly hadn't made it. Half drowned, nearly starved, fractured ribs and third degree burns covering a majority of his body. It was mostly perseverance and will that had kept him alive.

When he'd made it back to the Island he found Magneto in prison and nothing to do with himself but continue to recover and fall into a deep depression coupled with a budding drinking problem. First he'd gone through Sabretooth's abandoned stash of whiskey. The larger felanoid had cases of the stuff, which kept Toad occupied for almost two months, but then he'd taken to leaving the island and drinking himself stupid in local bars.

Honestly he preferred getting away from the silence of the Island and the reminder that he was a failure and responsible for his Boss' incarceration. Not only that but more often than not if he was in the mood he could pick a fight with the locals and feel like he was still a working man after all.

This particular bar he'd chosen was his favorite. Dark, near the docks; a real dive. Only a few locals frequented there, and none of them ever bothered him. It wasn't the sort of place he went to when he felt like killing things, it was the safe spot he'd chosen where he could hide in a back booth and consume enough to drown a smaller man.

Maybe he was killing himself. Slowly. In the most pathetic way he could manage. Drink after drink bringing him that much closer to the desperately craved release.

He was on his fifth drink of the evening when she came in. Obviously seeking the same solitude that he sought here. She'd changed. Her hair was shorter, fiercer somehow. Her clothes edgier, fitting her like a glove. He hated her. Had hated her before he'd met her and only more once she'd almost killed him. Of all the X-Men, Storm was the one he wished to see ground beneath his boot the most.

He didn't get up, though he knew she'd spotted him. The bar was dark, but his luminous eyes stood out, even in the shadows of his booth. He waited until she'd knocked back a few shots and finished his own drink before moving to approach her. Despite being drunk his movements were controlled. He was not one to stumble in front of the enemy.

Her face resided in all his nightmares. Her scent. Her eyes. The way her hair moved when picked at by the wind she carried. He hated her with a passion that consumed him.

"You're alive." She didn't even turn as he came up behind her, but instead ordered another shot, knocking it back. She sounded neither surprised, nor alarmed.

"Disappointed?" He asked bitterly, and received no answer.

Finally she turned to face him, eyes bright with power. The danger written clearly on every feature.

"I hate you," His voice thick with anger, closing the gap between them.

"I hate you," She echoed with equal malice, hands clenching and unclenching as she prepared to act.

The kiss was neither expected nor prepared for by either party, but returned with equal fervor on both sides. His hands on her face, her long nails curled in his hair, frenzied uncontrolled movements. Barely able to breath with the passion of hatred and longing. It was a furious attack, bodies pressing together, no gentle caresses or soft lips, but brutal obsession.

He broke the embrace long enough for a ragged whisper in her ear, "Do you have a place we can go?"

"No," Her tone was outraged; disgusted, put she didn't pull from his arms.

"I have a place," He told her, taking her by a leather-clad elbow to drag out the door and into the street.

She kept pace with him at first, the only sound their gasping breaths and the clack of her heels on the pavement. She was taller than he was, but neither was thinking about that. Her voice, haughty and righteous cut through the silence as they neared their destination.

"I do not know what you expect to happen, but I have no intention of-"

"Yes you do," He cut her off, leading her into a motel as equally disreputable as the bar.

She made no sound of protest as they climbed creaking stairs to a room at the end of a long hallway; the only thing distinguishing it from the other rooms its number. Toad produced a key from his pocket and soon the door was open and they were inside.

"This is where you stay?" Storm's voice was thick with revulsion.

"I don' 'ave a billionaire telepath payin me bills" Toad shot back, and they glared at each other with equal loathing.

Toad acted first, pushing her up against the walls to meet their lips in bruising contact. Hands on her jacket, yanking it off her shoulder, before attacking her slender neck.

"You make me sick," He breathed as he kissed her, "skin so perfect, so beautiful."

Her breath hitched in her throat as he excited her in a way no man before him ever had. He stopped his ministrations to glare up at her beautiful face, pressing her harder against the wall.

"Tell me you 'ate me," He demanded, and she complied readily, sounding well like she meant it. Satisfied for the moment, he grinned; his eyes hooded with passion, and went back to laying harsh kisses all over her body.

She arched up into him, "How dare you?" she snarled, as her jacket dropped to the floor.

His grin broadened at that, and he slid both hands lower on her waist to hold in a crushing grip as he ground against her, slamming her almost painfully against the wall. She slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave the imprint and he groaned. Her fingers dug into the collar of his jacket before tearing it off of his shoulders.

He tugged off his own shirt, and ripped hers down the front, hands cupping her breasts with excitement. He nuzzled her collarbone, an almost loving gesture that was broken as soon as his nimble fingers found the fly of her leather pants and unzipped them.

He leaned back a little to look her in the eyes, both of them silently consenting to the act about to take place. Without waiting for her to change her mind, he clapped both hands on her ass, lifting her to his waist, her long legs twining around him as he carried her to the filthy mattress.

Toad dropped her unabashedly on her back, never removing his hands from her waist, until he worked the tight pants from her hips. He made a noise of approval that wasn't necessary, considering the state of his own pants, and then kicked off his boots, climbing to brace himself over her, and lean down to capture her lips again.

Her perfect cocoa skin slid against the roughly chiseled abs as he held her tight, just enjoying the feel of skin against skin. Biting kisses strewn haphazardly down her jaw, her nails digging into his back. He felt like he would explode.

Losing patience, she reached up to undo his belt and he lifted himself slightly to allow her better access. His head cocked to look at her while she was preoccupied. Her breathing shallow, the flush to her lips and cheeks and, he glanced lower, breasts. His gaze remained hungry as he moved to help her kick off his pants and wasted no time with his boxers.

He paused there, the realization of what was happening finally hitting him, and he became, for lack of a better word…a little shy. She seemed to notice, because she reached up to his shoulders to pull him down, growling; "I hate you," at him once more.

He took in a strangled breath, twitching at her words, and reached down to tear off her underwear, and plunge immediately into her. Her back arched, her eyes widening at the sudden burst of pain and pleasure, and his equally furious response "I hate you" right back.

They rocked back and forth together, snarling and howling and hating each other for the next hour, their movements becoming more and more frenzied.

"Come," He barked, "Fucking Come."

His words drove her over the edge and she clenched in sudden release, her hands on his shoulders and her movements driving him over the edge to follow her.

His forehead just above her breast, his chest rising and falling in gasps, arms trembling with the exertion of still holding himself up, though he desperately wanted to pass out atop her. She reached for his shoulders, pulling him down once more to lay half on her, calloused fingers trailing lazily around her bellybutton, as he settled into a comfortable position.

They shared no words, though her hand strayed to tangle in his hair as he sighed with fatigue and shut his eyes for the night. Her breathing evened out with his and they tumbled into dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

She woke before he did. The realization of what they'd done hitting her as soon as she opened her eyes. She'd gone home with a man…the enemy…the TOAD…they'd had the most passionate sex of her life and they hadn't even used protection.

She glanced over at him still sleeping, his arm across her stomach, his back to the wall, breathing easily. His face was calm in sleep, almost handsome, despite the oddly colored skin. She couldn't imagine what had come over her, what had come over them both. He'd looked as surprised by the encounter as she'd felt.

She watched him for a while, afraid to move, lest she woke him. She noticed slight movement behind his eyelids…probably dreams. Every so often he flinched…probably not very good dreams. He looked younger than she'd assumed that night on Liberty Island. Probably at least a few years her junior.

Easing out from his grasp she reached for her clothes. Her underwear was ruined, but she tugged on the leather pants regardless. The shirt she'd been wearing he'd ripped down the middle, but she could tie it in place between her breasts and it would suffice until she was able to replace it.

Should she just leave? She paced across the floor, looking back at his prone form, images from the night before returning to her. He'd seemed so cocky, so confident until right before the actual act when she'd seen…what? Had he been nervous? It had been incredible. Just what she'd needed, if she was being honest with herself. A moment to escape from the hurt that surrounded the Mansion after Jean's death. Arms to comfort her.

She glanced about the room, not sure what to do now. It was obvious he'd been here awhile. An empty pizza box on top of the radiator, a pile of dirty clothes by the bathroom door. Little things that served to remind her that this man was just a man, and not the monster she'd thought an assassin of the brotherhood to be, nor the incredible lover from the night before. Just a man, who at the moment was having increasingly bad dreams.

She took a step toward him and his eyes snapped open, alert and ready to act at a moments notice. He pushed himself to a sitting position, the covers pooling at his waist as he watched her.

"You leaving then?"

"I should get back…they will worry," It was a real excuse but they both knew that wasn't the real reason she had to go.

He didn't say anything else, just watched her, hardly able to believe the night before had been real. He could still feel her smooth skin beneath him, still smell the sweet scent of her hair. She was stunningly beautiful, even more now that she had been, rumpled by sex and sleep.

She nodded once to him and then she was gone, the sounds of her departure echoing down the creaky steps. He leaned back against the wall, reaching for the cigarettes in his discarded pants pockets and lighting one.

He'd wanted to ask her what had happened to her to make her become what she was now, because it wasn't what he'd seen that night many months past. He wanted to ask her if she had any word of Magneto or the others since he'd left the Island and hadn't been back. Oddly enough, he'd wanted to ask her to stay, something that perplexed him more than even the night before.

It had just been sex. Fantastic sex, but just sex. Both of them needing to fill a part of their lives that had been emptied. Both of them seeking comfort where none would be given.

Toad reached for a bottle of Rum he had hidden beneath his mattress and unscrewed the top, taking a drag off the cigarette in his hand before tilting back the bottle and swallowing. This was how he began his days now. Better to be numb straight away than chance having to feel something.

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It was two weeks after the incident, as Storm referred to it in her mind. She hadn't seen or heard from Toad since then, even though she'd chanced going back to the bar once, telling herself afterward that she wouldn't really have done anything had she found him.

She thought about it often. Burdened by his question in the bar: 'disappointed?' It spoke of so much suffering. She couldn't imagine what it had been like for him after being struck by lightning. After she had struck him by lightning. She thought back on their recent truce with Magneto and how he hadn't been there…did Magneto even know he was alive? Had Toad left the Brotherhood? Had he been cast out?

Even as the guilt would gnaw at her, she was reminded of his anger, of his righteous fury and she could not pity him. She had hated him, and he her. He had tried to kill her and failed. And they had sought refuge in each other's arms for one blissful night of anger and obsession.

She leaned against her dresser, staring in the mirror, trying to see what others did when they looked at her. He'd called her beautiful, as though it were a crime…to him, she supposed, it was.

There was a creak at the window and she glanced up and he was there, silhouetted against a bright moon, one leg already through the portal, a hand on the frame, watching her. He looked nervous again, that flickering expression he had worn for just a moment before he entered her, as though afraid he would do the wrong thing.

She didn't know why he'd come, but she moved to meet him. As she strode forward he came the rest of the way through the window and caught her in his arms, still so strong after all of his suffering.

"You shouldn't have come," She told him. She feared his discovery here, and feared that she would not be able to stop herself from tumbling into ecstasy with him again.

"I needed you," He mumbled, though he did not elaborate on whether he just meant physically or otherwise. He kissed her collarbone, just above the neckline of the flowing nightgown she wore. She bent her lips to his and let him press her toward the bed, his hands pushing her dress from her shoulders hurriedly.

She was swept up in passion once more, their clothes a heap on the floor, his arms around her, holding her to him as he rocked inside her. Something changed as they moved as one, and the gestures became less frantic, less forceful, more attentive. His hands were in her hair again, but they didn't grip and pull, but caress gently.

"Tell me you don' 'ate me," He begged, his voice breaking with the request, his face pressed into her shoulder so he wouldn't have to see her expression.

She brought his chin up with a hand on his cheek to look him in the eye and she was afraid at the longing she saw there. Not for the first time she wondered how old he was.

"I don't hate you," she whispered, and it was true. The hate had long since dwindled away. How could she hate someone she gave herself so completely to? She barely knew him, yet she saw him as he was, just a man who needed her as much as she him…maybe more, "What happened to you?"

He shook his head not wanting to remember, not wanting to deal with the pain, but forget it in this act of …what?…love? Surely not. He kissed her lips, sliding a hand behind her head, and began moving again to distract her from her question…to distract himself.

She let herself become distracted again, filing away the question for a later date, fairly certain now that there would be a later date with him. His thrusts became more insistent as he neared his climax and she focused on finding hers.

Afterward, she lay in his arms, against his chest, as he sat in bed running a hand absently through her hair and down her back.

"Storm?" He asked, after a while of just laying there together.

"Ororo," She corrected.

"Hmm?"

"My name, it's Ororo," She waited for another 'hmm' of comprehension before continuing, "What it is?"

"Wot are we doin?"

She didn't have an answer for him. Didn't have an answer for herself.

"Do you like me?" He finally asked when it was obvious she wasn't going to respond.

Did she? She didn't hate him anymore, she was lying in his arms, and she was enjoying the feel of his fingers running through her hair.

"Yes. I like you." She pressed against him and felt him stiffen for a moment beneath her, before putting his arms around her and relaxing again, "What's your name? Your real name?"

"Mort," He answered, and it was obvious from the soft way he said it that it wasn't a name he used often, "Can I stay th'night?" He didn't want to take anything for granted.

He shouldn't. She should send him away. She should never have let him come in, but she felt herself nodding against his chest and his exhaled sigh of relief.

They lay that way for a long time, just breathing, thinking thoughts they wouldn't speak aloud. Toad finally shifted, moving his arms from around her to slide down and rest his head on a pillow, before pulling her against him again.

He fell asleep that way, Ororo in his arms, her head on his chest listening to the beat of his heart, lulled into her own dreams by the steady rise and fall of his breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

---Okay..I wasn't sure this was the way I wanted to go with this story...I had other ideas...some more heartwrenching, some more violent...this is what ended up writing itself...silly thing...so yeah...I'm not sure I'm happy with it...perhaps I'll write it again in a different direction, but this is what you get now.

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They were woken by a harsh knock on the door, which sent both of them springing into a sitting position, holding the blankets up in case an uninvited visitor arrived.

"Just a moment," Storm called, swallowing and patting at her hair, sliding out from beneath the sheets to grab for a robe.

"Sorry to wake you. The Professor wants to see all of us in his office," The voice of Cyclops commanded through the door.

Storm shot Toad an apologetic smile and answered, "Sure, just…give me a minute to get dressed."

"See you down there," There was the thump of footsteps down the hall as Cyclops went to wake up the others.

"You should probably wait here until I get back…someone might see you leave…the Professor's office faces the front gate."

Toad shrugged absently, and slowly got out of bed wondering what to do with himself in the meanwhile. Last night he hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd wanted companionship, wanted to sink and disappear into her again. She was all he thought about. The woman he loved and hated.

Now that it was bright and the spell cast by half drunken sexual tension was broken he felt foolish. A naked green man standing in her bedroom. Somehow infiltrating her life more than he'd ever intended. But, she was right. He didn't want to get caught here anymore than she wanted him to.

"Can I use yor shower?" He asked, unable to think of anything else to do, and well aware how long it'd been since he'd had one.

She was brushing her hair, apparently unaware of the discomfort her nighttime visitor was experiencing. She turned to him from her mirror. Short, yes, but muscular, and sporting an incredible body. He was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, not making any attempt to cover himself. Any attempt would have been pointless, but for some reason his complete immodesty drew her to him more. Making himself at home anywhere, even where he was least welcome. She wondered if it was something he did consciously, as though to say 'fuck you' to anyone who might try to inflict prudence on him.

"Sure," She agreed, "I think the bottle of shampoo's nearly empty but there's another one beneath the sink." She finished getting ready and turned to him.

"Will you be okay up here?"

He tried to give her a smile, but it came across rather edgy, "I'm fine…s'no' a problem."

He's the one who'd asked to stay, he reminded himself, shutting the bathroom door and reaching to turn on the shower. At the time he was just enjoying the aftershocks and the amazing sensation of a woman willingly touching him, lying against him. Something he'd never had before.

The heat of the water felt good, rinsing away his worries and the discomfort of still being here. What was he doing here? Was it just because she was the only woman who'd ever let him have her? That moment in the bar had been bizarre. He hadn't cared anymore about fighting, or who was right, or if she'd push him aside like every woman he'd attempted advances on.

He hadn't cared that she didn't love him. Never would. The fact excited him, like he was stealing something priceless, like he was corrupting something beautiful, and then he'd fallen asleep holding her.

Therein lied the mistake, he realized, he should have kicked her out of bed as soon as they were done, instead of falling asleep like lovers, dreaming together as though they cared.

Toad had always known he would be doomed to live a loveless life. He'd never even expected sex unless he was willing to take it without consent, and he hadn't gotten to that point yet. He hoped he never would. He feared what person he would be then.

And then this happened, and he was elated at this prospect of getting even with her all the while experiencing the forbidden act he was sure he'd go his life without. He had been certain that when morning came she would hate herself, feel disgusted and used and he would have won. At what point did it all go horribly wrong? At what point did they stop using each other and start needing each other?

That foolish moment last night when he'd begged her to tell him he wasn't hated? He grunted out loud, rubbing shampoo vigorously through his hair. Another moment of weakness on his part, wanting something there that simply wasn't. Would never be. And with her. He was disgusted with himself for even thinking it. She'd ruined his life, she'd left him broken and alone on the shore of the Hudson. She and her friends were what he'd spent the last few years fighting against. And he found himself…what? …caring?

Maybe it was just too much to take being hated by the woman who took his virginity, on top of everything else. His parents didn't want him. Magneto didn't care. He didn't have anyone, was it so bad that he'd asked it of her?

What did that even mean? He'd been gone from the Island a long time now. He'd lost track of the weeks…maybe the months. He'd spent his moments living in a bottle and hiding from anything real. He'd slept away a portion of his life, and he didn't know how far he had to go now to catch up.

He didn't even know if his heart was in it anymore. Fighting for the good of mutant-kind. Had he ever really been fighting for anyone besides Magneto? Had he made any difference? Enough to justify the scars and bullet holes and broken bones he'd collected over the years? At what point was it enough, and he got to give up? When was retirement? Did he really want to fight hard and die young?

Did he even have a choice?

He sat on the back edge of the bathtub, facing the door when it opened, his head in his hands, water cascading over taunt shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Storm asked, she'd poked her head in to call him and saw him sitting there looking as though the world resided solely on his back.

He looked up, standing and reaching to switch of the water.

"Yeh'm fine."

"They know you're here."

"Wot?" Toad reached for a towel, rubbing at his hair and then wrapping it around his waist, "You rat on me?"

"Of course not," She looked offended, "Wolverine smelled you and the Professor scanned….and…" She held her hands up helplessly.

Toad sighed and pushed past her to start getting dressed.

"They…the Professor wants to see you…" She ventured, watching him angrily tug on his boots.

"Bully for him. Do they know?"

"Know what?"

"Tha' I'm fucking you?" He turned to look at her for her response.

Storm's first impulse was to send him flying back into the wall with a gust of wind, but she controlled herself, he face rigid, "I believe the Professor may have some idea, but no one else…they think you broke in here to take revenge or something."

Toad snorted out a chuckle and finished tying his bootlace getting to his feet, no hint of last night's emotion anywhere on his face.

"Wot you gonna tell 'em?" He felt betrayed somehow…given away. He'd liked his secret love affair, had wanted to see where it might go, but he was sure it was over now.

She ignored his question, realizing that this anger was all just an act to protect himself. She crossed the room and took his arm, "Mort, don't do this, don't leave like this." There was no pleading in her voice, but a woman with experience telling him he was making a mistake.

"Wot am I supposed to do? Stick around for breakfas'? Jus' up an join th'X-Men?"

"I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about you asking me for help last night."

"Wot the bloody 'ell are you goin' on abou' woman, I did no such thing…" He gave her a look like she was insane, but she only tightened her grip on his arm.

"You said you needed me," She reminded him.

"I needed to ge' laid."

"You asked me to tell you I didn't 'ate you," She countered.

He paused, dropping his eyes to the ground. He didn't have a snappy retort for that or an easy comeback. He needed her. Needed someone to give a damn. Just once in his life, he needed that.

She seemed to read that gaze, that defensive posture.

"I needed you too Mort."

He glanced up at her his face asking 'why?'.

"I'm not the woman I was a year ago…I've seen friends die…I've seen madmen and murderers who are supposed to be on the right side of the law. I am angry, in a way no one in this house understands, but I think you just might…"

His jaw clenched, he stood riveted by her words.

"…I went looking for a way to die and I saw you there, killing yourself."


	4. Chapter 4

Well, I'm not sure about this chapter. I havne't felt particularly inspired lately, but I keep getting so many emails I didnt' want to just leave you guys hanging, so hopefully it's not to terrible and I an get back in the flow of things.--

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He was silent a long time. Just watching her. Looking for lies in her eyes. More comfortable with disbelief than he was with the idea that she actually gave a damn about him, understood him.

Funny, he thought to himself, that the one thing he wanted the most in the world was the one thing he was the most unwilling to accept.

"It's no' gonna work, luv," He said softly, longing in his voice, but feeling like he had to face this honestly.

"Why won't it work, Mortimer?" She demanded, "Because you can't face the prospect of things actually being okay? You can't even contemplate the idea of getting help. You _need_ help, Mort."

He bit his lip and looked angry for a moment. His fists clenched and his eyes were cold, trying to mask the feeling beneath.

"Who are you to tell me I need 'elp? You're the one tha's fuckin me. If anyone needs 'elp it's you," He snapped defensively.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Why do you have to take everything like this? Why can't you just…"

"What? Just what? Take it all in stride like a good lit'l X-Man?"

"NO. Realize that I'm not attacking you when I say you need help. You're obviously unhappy, you came to me, you practically begged me to care about you..."

Toad looked like he was about to break at those words, so she quickly continued.

"I do care about you," She said more gently, "Why does that scare you so bad?"

Toad let out a sigh and looked up at the ceiling for answers, rubbing the back of his neck. Here was really not the best place to have this conversation. The X-Man were liable to burst in any moment and decide he was public enemy number one. But Storm, Storm wanted him to stay. Wanted to help him. Like a lost puppy that she pitied, or like a man that she cared for? He didn't know. Was afraid to find out.

He felt very tired all of a sudden. Overwhelmed. He wondered when his life had gotten so chaotic. He'd thought he'd made peace with the fact that no one would ever really care about him. He'd thought he had his priorities in order, but now he wasn't so sure.

He didn't know where he stood with Magneto or the Brotherhood, Hell, he didn't even know where he wanted to stand with them. Was he leaving them? Had he already left?

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he wasn't okay with being alone the rest of his life. He'd thought he was…beyond it. Thought he could deal with being regarded as repulsive by everyone he met. Didn't realize how bad it'd hurt to give himself to someone and try to stay disconnected. How could he? He'd never had a chance to practice.

And what a cruel twist of fate to become so attached to someone who was supposed to be a mortal enemy. Even if he could get past the lingering hatred. Even if she could, the Brotherhood wouldn't stand for it, and he doubted the X-Men would feel any different. So they…what? Rode off into the sunset? Crossed the border and lived as thieves. Could he really pretend they were that in love and that a happily ever after would ever be waiting in store for him?

"If I let you care about me," He said finally, in a very soft voice, "If I let myself believe you really…I don' know if I could get over it."

He was fairly certain that was the most honest he'd ever been in his life. The most straightforward. And even that vulnerability terrified him to a degree he could barely stand. He couldn't meet her gaze now, though he could feel it burning into him.

He dropped onto the end of her bed, forgetting for a moment that he'd been on his way out. Now she knew. She knew that he wasn't a badass assassin, that he wasn't strong or fearsome. He was a fucking scared kid, who'd never had anything worth keeping, and worried now about losing the only thing he could ever want.

She didn't speak. Didn't try to placate his very real fears with trivial words. But she moved toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. He stared at the floor and they waited in silence for the other to make some move.

Finally her hand moved to his chin and forced him to lift his face and meet her gaze. His eyes glittered with years of unshed tears.

"You have really expressive eyes, did you know that?"

He smirked and gave a halfhearted chuckle, "Tha' so?"

"Mmm," She nodded, her fingers stroking his cheek gently, and his adam's apple jumped reflexively.

"Ororo," His tone was warning, cautious, "Don't make it 'arder….please."

She cupped his cheek and looked at him very seriously, "It's already hard, Mort. It's always going to be hard, you know that. It doesn't mean it's not worth it."

His lips parted slightly, his breath audible as he looked up at her imploringly. He couldn't stay and be an X-Man. He couldn't ask her to leave them. He didn't see what kind of options he had.

"I gotta go," He said reluctantly, his hand moving to curl around hers, "Bu' I'll be in touch, arigh'?

It wasn't what either of them wanted, but she didn't argue. And both of them worried that he'd break his promise, and she'd never see him again. He was dangerously near the edge and had been for some time.

She didn't move to stop him as he approached the window and leapt out, landing below with a thud. He couldn't bring himself to look back up at her. He didn't want to see her looking down at him, begging him to come back, and he couldn't bear the thought that she wasn't.

He didn't seen any sign of the others until he jumped the rock wall toward the street and Wolverine was waiting outside, leaning against the ivy covered stones and looking severe. As soon as he landed, Wolverine stood up straight and approached him.

"Xavier said to let you take off."

Toad didn't answer, didn't figure he owed one to Wolverine of all people. Wolverine waited for a moment and when it was clear he'd get no response he continued.

"I don't know what you did to Storm …"

"I didn't do anythin'," Toad cut him off, "I didn' do a bloody thing."

Wolverine folded his arms across his chest and sniffed at him, glaring at the short man before him. He couldn't smell enough to incriminate him. He'd had a shower recently, but that in itself spoke volumes about what he'd been doing in Storm's room.

Had Toad raped her and somehow made her think she deserved it? Why would Xavier let him get away with that? Had Toad just manipulated her into sleeping with him? Was it a pity thing?

His gaze was like raking Toad over coals, looking for anything that might give away what he'd done to his friend to make her act so strangely. But he just looked jumpy, and sad. He obviously wanted to leave, but wouldn't turn his back to Wolverine. Smart kid.

"Don't let me catch you around here again, Frog Boy," Wolverine finally snarled, the best he could do without hard evidence.

Toad gave him a bored look, but didn't move until Wolverine had turned himself and started back in the gate. And even when he did, his steps were shuffling and depressive. Before he made any decisions regarding Storm he had to make the decision about the Brotherhood. He had to figure out where they were and what they were doing without him, and even if he'd be welcome to return.

It was a long walk back toward town. Especially since that wasn't the direction he really wanted to go. He missed lying in her arms. He missed her lips. He groaned as the realization hit him. Like it or not, he already cared too much to not get hurt by this.


	5. Chapter 5

His motel room was totally vacated. The empty pizza box, a few empty liquor bottles remained but that was all. Storm swore as she kicked an empty carton of cigarettes out of frustration. She'd known. She'd known when he left that day that he was going to take off and do something stupid. She had no idea where he was now, no way to track him down without asking Professor Xavier to scan for him, and she knew he'd hate that. She was tempted to do it anyway. 

If it had been anyone but Mort, she'd have done it in a heartbeat, but he was walking fragile ground as it was. She knew it would do little but spook him and that might just drive him farther off. _Damn green terrorists and everything that went with them!_ Even when she'd been trying to talk him down from the brink of despair, trying to talk him back to a place he could deal with, she'd been trying to convince herself as well. That there was some other reason that she wanted to help him. That she was a good X-Man…a good Samaritan…that it wasn't just because she found herself when he was inside her, and it wasn't because she'd come to really admire him. He had a funny streak, and a boastful streak and a _human_ streak. That was what had done her in.

No, it was him. No matter what she might tell herself in moments of guilt, it was always him. The way he'd looked in the shower that day. The way he'd stood naked in her bedroom watching her brush her hair. The way he'd begged her and made love to her and held her in strong arms even when his voice was shaking.

And she was desperately afraid of what this meant. Desperately afraid that she wouldn't see him for another year and then when she did he'd be Magneto's henchman again and not his own man at all. Or she'd see him on the news. Arrested. Killed. Lethal Injection. And she could see those gold eyes hating everyone around him as he was put to death. She could see the fear in them, that she knew no one else would notice or care for. _Stubborn British Bastard._

She held a hand to her head, going over her options, and suddenly it came to her.

---

"You sure about this guy, 'Ro?" Wolverine asked as he stood in the doorway of Toad's vacated motel room, sniffing the air lightly.

They'd gone over it already, but he felt like he had to say something. It was Toad for fuck's sake. But he could smell the worry radiating off of her and that was answer enough. And who was he to judge? He felt a pang of guilt wash through him remembering his words to the young man outside of the Institute's walls. He'd only intended to protect Storm but it seemed like he'd just made things worse. Not for the first time in his life, he would imagine. Still, he was doing his part now.

"I think I can tail him," Wolverine promised her, glancing up as he realized she hadn't answered his first question. Her jaw was clenched and her fist held do tight the knuckles had turned white. She was really worried about him. "As long as he's on foot…"

Asking for Wolverine's help was only a step above Xavier's, but at least Toad wouldn't feel the crawling, not alone sensation of another mind invading his thoughts. At least she would leave that sanctuary in tact. The longer she couldn't find him, the worse her fears became. There was no time.

And they had left the motel building, Storm trying to put the image of a bloodhound out of her mind, knowing her friend would not appreciate the correlation. The clack of her heels on pavement sounded too loud in her ears. The perfume she'd put on that morning turning bitter and acrid in her nose, as she worried it would overpower what scent of Toad there was left to follow. Trying to assuage her mental anguish with the knowledge that Wolverine seemed to be going somewhere.

This was a shitty neighborhood. It's why she'd come here to begin with. To not be found by anyone who knew her. Slumming it. But it really was a slum. Sleazy motels with broken windows and half faded neon signs. Unattractive working girls that pulled ratty jackets closer around their bodies every time a squad car made its rounds. More bars and strip clubs than there were housing and groceries. And this is where he'd lived.

She hadn't noticed at night, when she was overcome with lust, half drunk, the gritty streets only adding to the ambiance of the experience. She hadn't paid attention on the way out that next morning, her mind reeling with images of the night before. But she saw it now. Took in every grotesque detail. He'd lived here. He'd walked down the cracked sidewalk, with his hands in his pockets and his head bent to hide his face under the hood of his sweatshirt. He'd slid into a back booth and drank until he had to go home. He'd wandered into the corner store for something to eat. He'd walked by the chorus of prostitutes on his way home every night. She wondered if he'd propositioned any.

She traced the steps they'd taken together that first night, in her mind. The streetlamps bright enough to cast a glow on his oddly mottled skin. Their breathing so loud in her own ears. She'd listened for catches in his that would tell her if he really intended to go through with the act, and they were there. She traced those steps so fervently that when she stood in front of the same nondescript bar that she would never forget, she didn't quite realize she was there.

It took Wolverine clearing his throat to bring her out of her reverie.

"He's in here," Wolverine promised, no uncertainty in his voice. She blinked and felt a strange sort of giddiness try to overwhelm her. Of course he was there. Of course. He hadn't gone anywhere at all. For a moment she felt so foolish, but she rushed forward to push open the door, not having to ask Wolverine to stay behind. He knew well enough that this was a private matter.

Her blue eyes, so exotically complementing the brown skin, scanned for the familiar shape that she was sure she could pick out of any crowd now. She wondered if he had any idea how much he permeated her every thought. Her expectant expression changed to one of displeasure as she walked the small establishment and didn't see any sign of him. Wolverine was somehow wrong.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she turned back toward the door, accepting the fact that she might never find him again, even as her stomach knotted itself up horribly.

"You looking for someone?"

Storm looked up suddenly into the bartender's weathered face. Grizzled in a way that made it impossible to discern age. She nodded once, searching him for any hope.

"Short guy? Always wears his hood up?"

Another nod.

"Bathroom. Been in there since yesterday. He's a good customer or I'd have kicked him out." The man explained.

She shoved the men's room door open, before the man had finished his explanation about good customers, and there he was. A huddle of bulky clothes on the stained bathroom tile. An empty bottle of scotch that had rolled away from him and he'd never leaned to retrieve.

When she crouched before him, the first thing she noticed was powder on his nose. With a sigh she leaned in to wipe it away, and his eyes, dull and bloodshot slid open to take her in.

"Ororo?" His voice cracked at trying to get the syllables past a dry throat even as she hefted an arm underneath his.

"Yeah, c'mon. You're a mess, we're getting out of here."

He didn't argue, just leaned against her so heavily she wondered for a moment if she'd be able to support his weight, but with a grunt she got him on his feet and it was easier going from there. One foot in front of the other, she got them out of the bathroom and across the bar, and still no word of protest. His grip on her was unyielding and painful, his body wanting to sag and go back to sleep wherever he fell, but she didn't let him.

It took an eternity to get back to the motel he'd been staying at, but she got him there. He was panting hard by then, groaning softly at even intervals. He wanted to give up at the stairs. She could feel him tremble and sag, but she shoved her shoulder under his arm with unsympathetic force and she hauled him up the steps. Pushed the door open and a few steps further and she was lowering him onto the mattress.

He tried to curl up into a little ball there and go back to sleep but she filled a cup with water and went to pull him into a sitting position.

"Drink."

He groaned.

"You're dehydrated. Drink."

He sipped at first, but then took the glass from her and drank it all, pausing to give it back to her and let her fill it again before continuing.

"Where's your stuff? Your clothes?" She asked.

He shook his head, the glass still to his mouth. Either he didn't remember or he didn't know. She sighed and took the glass again when he'd finished it. He looked more alert now. In a world of pain, but alert, watching her with appraising eyes.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She asked him, staring him down, not even sure what to say to him now that they were here.

He smirked very faintly, face unusually pale. "Just a glutton for punishmen'."

She nodded. She'd certainly believe that. Sighing, she went to start pulling his jacket off and he shifted and moved to help her where he could. Busying herself with his physical needs meant she could put his emotional ones on hold for a moment while she collected herself.

"Jesus, you need a shower," She complained absently and went ahead and started stripping him of his boots and then working the fly on his cargo pants. He managed to tug his t-shirt off over his head and lift his hips for her to pull the pants down and boxers with them.

He was a little easier to get off the mattress than he had been to get off the floor. She settled him on the lid of the toilet as she got the water ready, fussing with the temperature, smoothing back his hair. Forcing her hands to have some purpose.

"Come in with me?" He requested quietly. She glanced down at him for a moment before she leaned down to yank off her boots. She didn't know if he needed the support or if he just wanted the company. Either way. Theirs was not a platonic relationship and both of them knew it. Maybe he was testing her boundaries; maybe he just needed a warm body to help hold him upright.

She didn't bother with any sensual striptease or alluring display, she simple disrobed and then reached to help him into the shower. The hot water felt good on both their skin, washing away the filth and grime and preconceived notions.

He stood against her, his face turned and lay flush on her shoulder, his eyes shut. His shoulders, so muscular and tense, slowly unbound. He didn't get an erection. His body was too worn out to even try, but after a time his arms slid around her waist and he murmured, "Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

"What? We're going to move in together? Play house? Make babies?" Toad demanded, "Get real, sweetheart."

Storm rolled her eyes at him, covering her face with her hand a moment in exasperation before she resumed her pacing. He was insufferable. He drove her to places she didn't know she had within herself, and then he threw a tantrum like a four year old child.

"Why does it has to be so black and white with you?" She snapped.

"Because I'm not a ruddy idiot, woman! Face facts. It won't work." He sounded distressed, but certain. "For awhile. It might hold together for a lit'l while, but eventually you'll want me to move in with y'X-Men an join th'team. And it's not me. I can't be that."

"I've never once come remotely near to suggesting that. Mortimer, you're being ridiculous!"

"I'm being pragmatic."

"You're assuming I want something without even asking me, you may know me in some ways, Mort, but you haven't known me near long enough to do that!"

He swore and lit a cigarette and rubbed at the back of his head and went over the situation once more in his mind. He just didn't see how it would end any differently. Hell they hadn't been properly dating for a week and they were already having a shouting match. He shot her an irritated look that she returned full force. He had to admit to himself though, she was dead sexy when she was shouting.

"Tell me how else it can go, then," He demanded.

"You're so sure I won't want to make babies with you?" She countered.

That stunned him. He blinked at her, not quite sure how to respond. Of course not. He was green and warty. He had horrible teeth and a not-so-charming personality. Who would want to pass on genes like those?

"I wouldn't…I mean…I don't think I'd want to…" He stammered out, only to be interrupted.

"How do you know I even want children? Do you ask? NO! You just assume I want to fight hard and die young, like you had planned, and if it's not that, you assume I'm a baby machine that will demand a family and a picket fence and some outrageous clichéd lifestyle!"

"What else is there?"

She had to stop in her pacing and turn to look at him with the most dumbfounded expression on her face. He really was impossible. He had no concept of relationships. But Goddess, that couldn't all be his fault. Her expression softened.

"There are lots of things. There's getting a flat together in some country that's never heard of us. There are islands and mountains and beaches we could disappear to. There's travel and making love under the moon."

He snorted.

"What about your friends?"

"What about them, Mort? They're my friends. Yes. I'll want to see them sometimes. No, I never planned to live there forever. I value my privacy as much as the next person. I planned to live there a good deal longer, but plans change. I can't believe you're giving me the third degree about this when I picked you up off the floor of a men's room last night! Mort, I know you're scared, but don't give this up because you're afraid of the consequences."

He chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. She made sense. He knew she did. But it was happening fast and he didn't trust it. Didn't trust their love to last. Shit…all these plans and the word hadn't even been brought up yet. He sure as hell wouldn't be the one to do it.

_What do you have to lose Mort?_ He shut his eyes for a moment. He was borederling an alcohol addiction. He'd blown all his money on coke. He didn't have a family or a home to go to anymore. He didn't know what the Brotherhood was doing and he didn't want to know. And this woman...this fucking Goddess. This onetime enemy was offering him everything. If it killed him, it killed him. He wasn't even living the way things were.

"Yeh, Okay."

"Okay?"

"Arigh'…I'll give it a shot. I'll do this. I'll try to make it work. Okay."

That surprised her. The swift relenting. She moved toward him and took the cigarette out from between his fingers and put it out in the ashtray behind him. He smirked at her, loving how she'd brush so close and that's all it took to drive him wild.

He hated being vulnerable. It was a foreign, disturbing feeling that he hoped never to get used to. Having made his decision he shoved aside his misgivings and fears and embraced this new idea. He'd be lover and friend. He'd be a part of something greater than himself again. He'd have a reason to live and a woman to protect. It made him hard just thinking about it.

"Y'know, you're very persuasive," He gave her a crooked grin that he was pleased to know she found fetching on him.

"I should be angry with you," She reminded him, "I thought better of you than drugs."

"I dissapoint," He pointed out to her, not looking bothered by it.

"Not anymore though...right Mort?" Her voice was soft and coaxing. Of course he'd agree.

"Not anymore."

Slender hands slid up his chest and linked behind his neck and she nodded her agreement. She wasn't surprised nor unhappy to feel him lean in to nip playfully at her neck. His hands found her hips and he pulled her in closer against his body.

"Fighting makes me so fucking horny," He admitted against her skin and she grinned.

"Fighting or making up?"

"Mmm…Both." He nibbled at the soft flesh of her earlobe a moment before his hands rose to cup both breasts and he pressed her backward a few steps toward the bed.

A/N --Hmm...to smut or not to smut?..that is the question... --


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I know some people will be dissapointed with this conclusion, but this is the only place I could see it going.

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It didn't work. He'd known it wouldn't. Knew he was just biding time, soaking it up as much as he could before it was taken away from him. He didn't blame her for it not working. How could it have? They'd met as enemies. And no matter how much you think you've grown as a person, you can't just forgive and forget. You can't forget.

They argued a lot. That, in itself wasn't such a big deal. But that, coupled with their past and Mort's imagined version of the future. The romance never really stood a chance.

She missed her friends and the life she'd left behind far more than she could have anticipated. She was on the phone with them all the time, wanting to visit. She tried to talk Mort into coming, but he knew he wasn't really welcome. And the truth was he wasn't, and she resented him for it.

She cared about him. She'd probably care about him until the day he died, and longer, but the word love seemed a stretch. At least in the romantic sense. He was incredible in bed, attentive and more mature than he acted at any other time. But, that was the problem. His intense immaturity. He made everything a federal case.

"There's nothing on," He complained, shutting off the television with an irritated click and tossing the remote at the wall without any consideration for it's further use.

"There's plenty on," Storm argued, going to retrieve the device and see if he'd broken it again. He was insufferable.

"Normals bullshit," He spat the worse like a swear.

"Would you cut that bigot shit out, Mortimer?"

He knew he was in trouble when she used his full name. He rolled his eyes, and dug in his pockets for his cigarettes, glancing up at her. Noticing for the first time that she was dressed to go out. He scowled.

"Going someplace?"

"I told you yesterday that Jean invited me shopping," She told him exasperatedly. He NEVER listened.

"She still trying to talk you into moving back?" He fidgeted as he asked. He knew it was only a matter of time. She kept bringing it up. Subtly at first, but more often as of late.

"She wanted us both to move in."

"I seem to recall you saying you'd never ask me to do that."

There was little she could say to that. It was true. She'd promised him. But she'd been high on worry and the newness of the relationship and their budding feelings, and things just weren't working out like she'd hoped they would. The problem was, he had so much potential that he squandered away and he'd fallen into this sulk ever since that night she'd picked him up off the men's room floor.

He watched her gather her things to go out. Double checking to see that she had her cell phone. Tucking her lipstick into her purse. Straightening her blouse. She glanced back at him as she headed for the door.

"Do you want anything while I'm out?"

He shrugged, "Cigarettes."

She frowned, but he knew she'd get them. She didn't wave or even say goodbye before the door was clicking shut behind her and locking a moment after that. He smoked entirely too much.

He didn't go out. He didn't have any friends besides Storm and that was becoming tenuous at best. His obsession with her had long since worn off. He cared about her. She was comforting and familiar, but obsessions burn out eventually. When you see the object off their pedestal. When you watch them brush their teeth and shave their legs and eat toast and make phone calls and act like everybody else.

He didn't like himself any more than she did at the moment. He knew he was being obstinate at every turn; that he was sulking around like a teenager. He knew she wanted him to be something more. And part of him resented her for that. She would never understand. She could never understand that he couldn't go out like everyone else. Be like everyone else. Even if he hadn't been wanted by a dozen government agencies in as many countries, he was a green freak and he didn't fit in.

He rubbed at his head and cursed at himself.

"Here you are mate, best thing that ever happened to you. Steady girl and gorgeous to boot and you're thinking about taking off on her. You're a ruddy idiot."

But he needed to get his shit together. He needed to go live for a while. He missed having a purpose. He missed fighting, even if he wasn't sure he was Brotherhood material anymore. He got up from the sofa and headed into the bedroom. It was mostly all her shit anyway. He pulled a black army surplus bag out of the closet and started shoving his clothes in it.

He wouldn't take off without saying goodbye. He wouldn't leave some damned note. But he knew she wouldn't stop him, so he was filled with a sense of peace at that. It'd been great, it just wasn't forever. He'd never thought he'd be alright with that. He'd sure as shit miss getting laid on a regular basis though. Maybe he could visit her or something. Benefits.

Or maybe he'd move on. She'd done a good thing for him though. Gotten him out of that wretched apartment. Made him not hate himself quite so bad. Got him off the drugs and off all the booze and Hell he'd even cut down on the cigarettes. A pack a day wasn't too bad. But she'd given him a sense of normalcy that had been totally foreign to him before. She'd let him play house and see how the other side lived. Didn't suit him, but it had changed his perspective.

He went to clean the kitchen and wait for her to come home, his bag by the door.

FIN

A/N I know this is sort of an abrupt ending, but this is how it came. I don't feel like it would have added anything to see them fall out of obsession with each other. Nothing drastic, just not THERE anymore. But while this is the end for Storm and Toad it's not the end of my ideas. I'm working on a sequel companion piece that should be up pretty soon…hopefully. I also hate the title for this one, so I may change it.


End file.
